


round and round the rink we go

by Star_less



Category: Derry Girls (TV)
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Comfort, Coming Out, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, Fluff, Gen, Love Confessions, Not Canon Compliant, One Shot, Secret Crush, Sexuality Crisis, The prom, derry girls s2:e5, my favourite wee lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:20:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25735699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_less/pseuds/Star_less
Summary: “James, you’re—you’re gay.”It was a statement, not an insult - like it was common knowledge. Erin sat across from him at the kitchen table, alternating between picking salt grains out of her fingernails and stuffing a few salt-fattened chips into her mouth; she didn’t meet his gaze.James sighed but laughed. “Okay, and what does my apparent sexuality have to do with this?”“...I think I’m gay.”Erin, struggling with her sexuality, decides to come out at the prom. Except Erin's a Derry Girl and for the Derry Girls, nothing quite goes to plan.
Relationships: Clare Devlin/Erin Quinn, Erin Quinn & Everyone, James Maguire & Erin Quinn
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69





	round and round the rink we go

**Author's Note:**

> a quick canon rewrite of (some of) the prom episode. as much as I love Erin/James this episode RADIATED sapphic energy and I'm here for it. I have a massive crush on Saoirse Monica Jackson too so that helps; take my gays :D

“James, I- I need your help.”

It was rarely that any of the girls asked him for help, least of all Erin. Michelle did sometimes, especially when it was double maths and she risked an after school detention if Sister Michael caught wind of yet another incomplete assignment. Not that Michelle cared, but Sister Michael had friends in high places and always seemed to schedule detentions right around the time Michelle had a date with, ‘this really fit ride’.   
Clare, on the other hand, took her schoolwork really seriously, all coloured highlighters, fancy pens and Japanese washi tape. Orla was… Orla.   
Out of all of the Derry girls, Erin was the only one who kept her head down and refused help. Odder still, she was the one who had turned up at his door at seven-thirty asking for his help without any of the other girls. 

“What… what do you need help with?” James asked, tugging nervously at his pyjama shirt. “You need to… go over trigonometry or something?”  
He really hoped not. He only had a few hours to get ready to head to his convention. 

“No, James!” Erin huffed with an overdramatic roll of her eyes, stepping into the hallway. “Michelle’s out, right?”

James nodded, faltering. “…yeah, she left earlier. With, um—Johnny Kells, I think? Or—or maybe it was Niall O'Farrell, I- I dunno. I didn’t ask.” Grimace. “Why?”

“This stays…” Erin tugged her jacket tighter around herself, a makeshift hug. She mimed zipping her lips. “This… between us, okay? Just us.”

James frowned, watching her. “Alright, well, Michelle’s mum is out.”

“…she’s your aunt.”

“Yeah… um. Yeah, she is. Right.” James nodded, still bewildered. “Well, I was—I was just eating my tea in the kitchen before I get going so—so come in.”  
~

“James, you’re—you’re gay.”

It was a statement, not an insult - like it was common knowledge. Erin sat across from him at the kitchen table, alternating between picking salt grains out of her fingernails and stuffing a few salt-fattened chips into her mouth; she didn’t meet his gaze. 

“No, I’m not!” James sighed but laughed. “Okay, and what does my apparent sexuality have to do with this?” He shrugged, picking at a gnarled bit of fish batter.

Erin picked at the tablecloth. It wasn’t a nice tablecloth (not that Erin, at sixteen, particularly cared for tablecloths – although knew the one Mammy had was miles prettier, as far as tablecloths went); this one was red, a faded tartan pattern, slathered in a layer of protective wax. If you were adept enough you could pick up a sliver of wax and peel it off of the tablecloth in small curls, like fingernails. It was weirdly addicting when you got down to it, sort of like that thing you did in primary three - covering your hands in glue and peeling it all off again during a dead boring R.E. lesson. It was also probably why the tablecloth was covered in faded speckles and dimpled fork-marks.   
Although James couldn’t help but think Erin hadn’t come all the way here to inspect their tableware. “…Erin?” he repeated, ducking his head to try and meet her gaze. She ducked further away from him. 

“I think I’m gay.”

James blinked, slowly. “…okay, well—well, good for you, Erin Quinn.” He enthused softly; still, the conversation didn’t feel complete. There was more, hanging in the air – something she wasn’t letting go of. He reached across the table, placed his hand on top of hers – surprised to find hers quivering slightly. “What—I mean, does it matter?”

“I don’t really like boys,” she started, and once she said that then the rest kinda came gushing out, like James had pulled everything out word by word. “I- I mean, I kissed John-Paul O’Reilly once but—but it was just…” she grimaced, “…you know, like he was trying to suck my face off, and—and there’s David Donnelly and, I mean, _whew_ , he’s cute, right? But—but I don’t want to… I don’t _want_ to kiss him. Michelle, Michelle says all this about how I just want to—to ride him senseless, and…” her brow furrowed, her hand flattened under James’ and the nervous picking started up again. “…I dunno, I don’t, really. I just…” she pulled away from James now, hunching tighter as if she was trying to hide (hide away from the truth?) “…I just sort of, say those things because I have to.”

“…I mean, when John-Paul kissed you he had just puked his guts up.” James shrugged, light, but shook his head. “Okay, well… there’s nothing wrong with being gay, you know that, Erin.” The English boy laughed, soft and almost incredulous. “I mean, Clare isn’t doing too bad, is she? It’s… it’s not as if the girls’ll dump you and move on to find a straighter friend. Otherwise—otherwise they would’ve done that when Clare came out.” 

“But that’s it, James, that’s it!” Erin said. Her voice was tight with upset; something James hadn’t anticipated. She took a whooping breath; it shook slightly. “…I fancy _Clare_. And I’ve fancied Clare for ages before I ever even knew what fancying was and it’s not as if she’d ever look at me like that after what I said to her when she came out and now Mae is taking her to the prom.” She threw her hands out but didn’t pause for breath. “You should’ve seen her this morning James, it was all ‘Mae said this’, ‘Mae thought that’. Stupid _Mae_!” she fumed, angrily swallowing a chip.

“The prom…” Realisation crashed around James. The prom had gone over his head entirely since he had that Doctor Who convention to get to; he’d glazed over entirely when Michelle mentioned going off with some guy… suddenly everything made sense. He squeezed Erin’s arm again. “Well—well, you have to tell her.”

Erin’s gaze snapped to meet him. Her face was white, her eyes big and round. She had that sort of look on her face that, James thought, were she in a cartoon her eyes would be shaking in their sockets. “Are you crazy?!” she hissed.

James shrugged. “I’m English. Same thing apparently.” He cracked a smile. “She came out to you. She trusts you. I’m sure she can handle a little crush, even if she doesn’t reciprocate it.” His voice was gentle and Erin hated, hated, hated how much sense he was making. She wanted to knock his stupid little English head off of his shoulders about as much as she wanted to knock… this… out of her. The gay thing. Nobody was ever gay in Derry. Well, except Clare, and James, but James didn’t really count. And, well, it wasn’t as if people had been horrible to Clare for being, you know, a lesbian… but then they sort of were, you know? People sort of… whispered things - there’s the wee lesbian or, oh, she’s pretty for a wee dyke, isn’t she aye. Mammy had started speaking of ‘Clare’s people’ in hushed, reverent voices as if Clare was suddenly E.T. It was weird enough hearing people talk like that about Clare. Erin wasn’t sure that was something she could cope with when it was about herself. 

Erin huffed, dragging out her chair and looking at the clock. “It’s 7:30. I’d better go. Thanks for your help, James. Enjoy your… weirdo convention.” 

She didn’t sound very thankful. Nevertheless, he nodded, taking her to the door. “Good luck, Erin,” he chirped optimistically, even if it didn’t seem like Erin was going to go through with it after all.  
~

Pushing her way through a cloud of cider and boys spattered in too-strong aftershave, Erin scoured the floor.   
There.   
There Clare was, in the dress that Mae had chosen for her, the pretty dark blue piece with a bow across the bodice. And she looked good in it too, talking with Mae, a glass in one hand. Not that Erin could tell what she was saying…  
Her stomach coiled. 

“There she is!” Michelle’s voice came to her first before a hand landed on her shoulder. Orla joined in. “Aw, Erin, you look well cracker.”; Erin jerked, looking up in surprise at her mates. “Hi,” she smiled, shifting nervously. “I need to talk to Clare, have you caught up with her yet?”  
Colour came to her cheeks as if they were capable of reading her thoughts, of knowing what she had told James, what she was going to do.

“No, she’s with that Mae. And I’m just trying to stop my two lads from talking to each other. How could they?” Michelle huffed, wrinkling her nose. 

“Erin!”

Clare. Erin ran over to her, a shaky smile on her face. “Clare!” she called in return and there the short blonde was, tugging nervously at her hair. “Clare!” Erin said again, happily this time, “I- I need to tell you somethi—” 

“Oh, Erin!” Clare moaned, brows furrowed. “Sorry—sorry—but you _have_ to help me! Mae is _deranged_! She’s—she’s going to hurt Jenny for, for gettin’ that dress and for riggin’ prom queen!”   
She spoke in a rush without once stopping for breath, pupils tiny in fright. Erin bit her lip and nodded with slight hesitation. 

“Fuck-a-doodle- _do_!” murmured Michelle (when had she appeared?) as Erin and Clare turned toward the stage. 

“Look, I’m sorry Michelle but if I’ve sweated in this thing I am in a bit of a situation right now what with--!”

“Not that, that!” Michelle pointed to the top of the stage, up toward the rafters. There were three metal buckets, tilted and toppling, tied together by thick rope. “Aw, she’s pullin’ a Carrie!” 

Michelle sounded just the slightest bit pleased at this; Erin didn’t think she should be. 

“What’s that?” Clare asked, voice increasing in volume. 

“Ah, cracking film.” Michelle nodded sagely. “Carrie gets voted prom queen ‘n her bully pours a bucket of pig’s blood on her.”

Clare and Erin looked at one another. All things considered, Michelle sounded a little too pleased with herself. “We have to help her!” Clare shouted; Erin was transfixed on the swaying buckets, the creaking surprisingly menacing over the music from the jazz band. 

“Quick!” Erin urged. Aisling was up on stage ready to crown Jenny as Prom Queen. She ran in one direction, after Clare, where Michelle, James and Orla went in the other. 

“…so, I- I know this is a bad time, but…” Erin shifted foot to foot, “I still, um, I still need to talk to you, Clare.” She stammered. 

“There she is! Oh my God, Erin, go!” Clare wailed as she caught sight of a grimacing Mae, hurrying Erin onstage.  
~

“…You alright?”

“I smell like a Bloody Mary,” Clare whined, wringing tomato juice from her hair with one hand. “Michelle can never return these dresses, we’re—we’re screwed. We’ll go to jail. I’m too young to go to jail, Erin, I’m too young!”

Erin laughed, perching on the brick wall outside of Jenny Joyce’s house and turning her feet in her uncomfortably-too-tight shoes.   
She shook her dress. “…I think I have tomatoes in my bra.”

Clare snorted a shaky, neurotic laugh, and oh how Erin loved hearing it. 

“…you look really good in that dress.” Erin continued, hesitant, not quite looking at her. “The blue. Suits you.”  
God, her belly was fizzing, and it wasn’t as if she’d drank anything. What was it, nerves? Anticipation? Every time she opened her mouth and thought about it she would go sour, all in her cheeks like you did when you were about to be sick.

“…The pink would’ve suited me more, though.” Clare nodded, wistful, and it was only the sound of her voice that kept Erin from soaring into an anxiety-fuelled orbit. “…you were right.”

Yes. She was right. She was right because she knew Clare, knew her better than anyone else ever could. That tiny shard of vindication shielded her anxiety a little bit; but still, nothing could make her say it – the words forming and melting on her tongue instead. The scene she had rehearsed out in her head first on her way to James’ and then on her way to Jenny’s still played on a movie reel in her head, and even if now it was playing in some sort of distorted real-time nothing about it had changed: she was supposed to go up to Clare, drink in one hand; Clare’s hand in the other, letting free an anguished declaration of love like she saw in all those slushy romance novels Mammy secretly liked to read; then being swept up and kissed and having the world around her melt into lovey-dovey nothing.  
This… was not like that. This was about as far away as Erin could ever be from… that. Hmpf. Marian Keyes had a lot to answer for.   
…then again, here they were, in their little bubble; unnoticed and unpoppable. Usually, something would have gone well wrong by now. Michelle would have bounced in and slashed the tension in two, or—or Erin would have choked on air and fallen off of the wall and broken both legs.

“…so!” Clare tugged her dress a little lower. “What did you want to talk to me about, earlier? Before… before that thing with Mae?” 

“…I wish—I wish you’d taken me to the prom instead of Mae.” 

Redness leaked into Erin’s cheeks; she gulped in surprise at herself, like she was trying to take back what had been said. That… that hadn’t meant to come out. And if it had, it certainly wasn’t supposed to come out…. like _that_. She sighed. “I-- I was jealous.”   
There they were, skating nervously around the issue. Erin’s heart thudded; she held tightly to the barrier and lifted her feet away from her ice skates.   
It was time to get off the ice. No more skating around the issue.

Clare nodded, brow furrowing, “No, Erin, I- I get it. We woulda had fun together and, I mean, Orla took your Granda, so—so nobody woulda minded or given you grief. Loads of people went to prom with their mates.” 

“Clare, that’s…” Erin brought a hand to her cheek, rubbed it. She sighed. “What you said, last term, about being a lesbian?”

“Mm?”

“Me too. And—and—” Erin’s voice was tense now, tight and shaky. “I fancy you,” she blurted quickly

—like ripping off a plaster?—

“I fancy you, Clare.”

Clare giggled. It was a loud, neurotic giggle, the kind that sounded like a machine gun firing. “Sorry!” she giggled, blue eyes wide and cheery, “N- no one has ever fancied me before!”  
Especially not a girl. Not even after news of her ‘lesbianism’ _(thanks, Michelle)_ spread around the school.   
…Not that Clare ever put herself in that position, either. Michelle was always trying to set her up with this boy, that boy – and then this girl, that girl _(‘Vicky McMahon came out as bi last week, mind, and even I think she’s a ride!’)_ – but it was just so—so scary. 

“Well, now someone does!” Erin laughed awkwardly. Even though she had said it now, couldn’t take back her words, her heart still thudded. Maybe—maybe Clare wouldn’t want to date her. Maybe she’d get turned down but—but she wasn’t a hopeless date, so- perhaps not?   
She looked at her lap, swung her legs idly, glanced again at Clare. The silence gathered and all too aware Erin opened her mouth, desperate to cut the tension. “Is… is that okay?” she whispered nervously. What else was she meant to say? Nobody told you what to say when you were making an anguished declaration of love in Mammy’s slushy romance books. They got swept up and cried a bit, kissed and bonked and everything was a sugary sweet happy ever after. 

Clare laughed, shyly tucking her hand into Erin’s slightly clammy one, leaning against her. “…yeah, it is.”

Erin was about to pry herself away, _God,_ she thought pleadingly, _don’t lean on me, I smell like a tin of Heinz._ Not even the **Charlie** she’d sprayed liberally over herself was able to mask it. But she stopped, and she relished the butterflies in her tummy, and she leaned in too.

It was hardly crying and kissing and bonking, more squeezing and cuddling and peeling tomatoes off of one another’s dresses, but it was a start.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos welcome. Much love <3


End file.
